grobbulusfandomcom-20200214-history
Zèphyr the Kind
Zèphyr is a human mage formerly of the Kirin Tor. He spent most of his adolescence in Dalaran, shut away in the Violet Citadel studying. Now he seeks to help others and advance his skills, without the overbearing Kirin Tor restricting him. History The First and Second Wars Zèphyr was born in Southshore during the First War. His mother died during childbirth. He was raised by his father, who was a fisherman, like many of the locals. He was barely three when refugees came looking for sanctuary after the Siege of Stormwind. Everything from his childhood was a blur to him. Becuase of the trauma he had suffered, he couldn't even remember his name. What he could remember... was living a nightmare... It all began when the Second War landed at the shores of Hillsbrad Foothills. That day is the cleariest memory he has. He was moving at a brisk pace that day. As a boy he would often greet his father at the docks after a long day. Reaching the town, the boy froze in terror. The sky began to blacken, as billowing smoke rose from flaming boats at sea. Villagers rushed past in attempt to flee the coming conflict. The reality of the situation dawned on him at a glacial rate. Succumbing to his fears he simply fell to the ground, unable to run or cry out for help. Soon the ground began to tremble as sounds of clinking metal, thunderous footsteps, and hellish battle cries rang through the port town. The memory begins to blur again, he realized that he was huddled up against a building. All around him are corpses, ruins, and fire. The smell of smoke, salt, and death permeated the air. He hears an animalistic cry as he looks up at a dark green orc standing over him. The orcish warrior towered over him, standing taller than any man in the village. In its hands, an enormous battleaxe, covered in blood from a fresh kill. The orc raised his axe ready to strike. In a futile attempt to protect himself, he raised his hands and shouted at the orc. Perhaps he thought he would awaken some power. He often fantasized about gaining some mystical power that would turn him into a hero. Maybe this would be the trigger, after all, his story couldn't end here.. could it? "Stay down child!" Bellowed an aged voice, as a cascade of arcane missiles slammed into the surprised orc. The orc was eviscerated by the arcane energy and thrown into a nearby building. As the dust settled, a surprisingly spry, elderly mage knelt down before him. "Are you unharmed young one?" the mage asked, reaching his hand out to help the boy up. "Quickly now, this is a dangerous place." With a snap of his fingers the mage opened a swirling vortex of energy. Through the portal one could see the image of a vibrant city with spiraling white towers and violet hued glass. Was this a dream? he thought pausing at the mouth of the portal. He turned back to see the mage swirling magical energies around him. He stood watching the mage as he commanded the arcane with such fluidity and ease, it was an elegant display of might. With a wave of his hands, the mage froze dozens in place and then finished them immediately with an arcane explosion. There was no hesitation in his command of magic, none of the orcs could even get near before being swiftly dealt with. This man was exactly the hero he dreamed to become! "Khadgar! We must make haste! The Horde is advancing towards Durunholde Keep!" Another man in gleaming armor exclaimed This new man carried a battle scarred shield that held the visage of a lion. The mage, Khadgar, turned back to the mesmerized Zèphyr and told him he would be safe with the others in Dalaran. He brandished a small scrap of paper and held out his index finger. After his finger began to glow, he drew on the paper and handed it to the boy. With a bit of a push the world seemed to drop out beneath Zèphyr, everything seemed to swirl around him. His stomach churned and his vision blurred. Then suddenly he was on his hands and knees, a well bricked street below him. As he looked up he was surrounded by various colors of cloth. Many robed individuals gathered around the collapsed boy. "Master! He sent another one!" A woman yelled, her voice distant from the crowd surrounding him. All of the stress rushed back to the boy causing him to black out. This was the day of the Battle of Hillsbrad Foothills. This is the earliest day that Zèphyr was able to piece together from memory. After his arrival at Dalaran, he was taken to an orphanage. Many of the caretakers asked him about himself. He couldn't recall simple things like his name or his family's. In fact whenever he thought of his father it put him in a depressive state. After a short while he started having flashes of memory. He remembered that his name started with a "Z", but nothing else. Eventually a young girl, another orphan, thought he was akin to a gentle wind. Someone who was kind and just, and blew in on the wind. Though poetic, in a sense he saw it as the truth. He always wanted to protect others, but he never held any desire to hurt another. Not to mention he was whisked away from his home in an instant. "Zèphyr means gentle wind," The young girl smiled when opening a large book she clearly swiped from one of the caretakers. "See! Don't you think its a perfect fit, It even starts with Z!" She directed him at a definition of the name. It felt.. right. He adopted the moniker and never looked back. While he lived in the city, he was constantly alert for any news of his hero. If there where any tales of Khadgar to be told, Zèphyr was quick to learn them. Eventually news of Khadgar destroying the Dark Portal reached him. He was ecstatic! The bloodthirsty orcs where driven back! More importantly Khadgar would probably come back to Dalaran. This was his chance. Zèphyr would ask to become his apprentice, so he could fufuil his dream. When Khadgar returned he was pleased to see that the boy was alive and well, however he vehemently turned down the proposal. "I'm sorry, truly I am." Khadgar apologized, lowering himself so their gazes met evenly. "If you were just a bit older and more disciplined, I might have taken you up on that. Maybe next time." He gave Zèphyr a gentle smile and rustled his hair. This didn't discourage him, if anything this pushed him to start studying on his own. The Third War and The Destruction of Dalaran He would sneak in almost daily to the Violet Citadel over next two years. He would take any tome he could, and would attempt to decipher the secrets contained within. This ended up getting him in much trouble with governing bodies such as the Kirin Tor or the Council. His days went on like this for a time.. until news of a great sacrifice made its way to Dalaran. Khadgar and the Sons of Lothar in an attempt to close the Dark Portal for good, sealed themselves on the other side of it. Zèphyr was devastated once again, he was proud of his hero, but also conflicted. He knew that his desire to train under the Arch Mage was selfish, when compared to saving thousands of lives. In the end it solidified his resolve. He would become a mage.. an Arch Mage. One that would have made Khadgar proud. For the next decade or so he dedicated himself to his learning. He was accepted into the Kirin Tor as an apprentice, and used their resources to absorb all of the knowledge he could. He shut himself away from the world for long periods of time in the Violet Citadel. He researched all 8 schools of magic, not wanting to favor any one school. He even found a dusty tome hidden behind an old shelf that depicted a forbidden 9th school. Necromancy wasn't exactly an interest of his, but knowledge could help him if he ever needed to confront it. So absorbed in his studies was he, that he was caught unaware of the events going on in the world. He focused so much on the studying of magic, that he heavily negated the practical side. His greed for knowledge ultimately left him unprepared for the events to come in just a few years. The day came... The Third War, and the destruction of Dalaran under the might of the demon Archimonde. Zèphyr was there when the Spires of Dalaran collapsed. Completely unable to effectively cast the powerful spells he researched, he found himself in a deadly situation. All he could do was theorize spell craft that he lacked the ability to cast. The city quickly falling to ruin all around, he scrambled gripping the tome he was studying tightly. Screams and the sound of crumbling stone crashed about. The dust kicked up into the air stung his eyes. Everywhere he looked there were dead mages, either crushed by decimated buildings or from choking on the air that was thick with debris. The scene reminded him of when Southshore was destroyed. He thought he had changed, thought he was strong enough to stop these things from happening. Even surrounded by many powerful mages it wasn't enough. Utterly defeated he gave up and resigned to his fate. "What are you doing!?" A familiar voice cried out before shoving Zèphyr to safety. An extremely loud crash sounded from where he once stood, and a large gust of air burst against his back. Slowly he turned around, still in shock. Then he saw her.. it was the same girl who gave him his name. She had pushed him to safety but in the process was pinned underneath the rubble of a collapsed building. She was barely alive, sounding short gasps for breath. "No.." Zèphyr trembled, "I'm so sorry, if it wasn't for me.." "It's okay.." The girl managed to cough out, "Just promise me that you wont die here, become.. become a great mage.. and never... loose.. your kind hear.t.." She faded quickly.. even though she was clearly in great pain, she looked so peacefull. "I promise.." Zèphyr said clutching her hand, tears starting to roll over unto his cheek. Having made this promise, he made his way safely out of the city. From that day he made a vow that he would never run or let another innocent die in front of him again. After the Fall up to Year 25 He spent the next 5 years wandering from place to place, learning more about the world outside of Lordaeron. The Kirin Tor asked him to stay to help rebuild Dalaran, but he thought his talents could be better utilized, so he left. He learned of the awful Scourge, the once great Prince who betrayed his people, and about the Battle of Mount Hyjal. He eventually came to find himself near Stormwind, specifically in Northshire.. Where he heard they were having troubles, and were in need of aid.. Description Zèphyr is in his mid twenties, an average height human male standing around 5'11. He has long brown hair, often tied back behind his head. His facial hair is finely trimmed into a circle beard. He has teal colored eyes that shift from heavy blue to a deep green. His complexion is fair, given that up until recently he spent large amounts of time indoors. He wears light cloth robes that do not restrict his movements or impede his casting. At the start of his adventure he wields a simple staff that he managed to snag before abandoning the ruins of Dalaran. Category:Characters Category:Human